


8%

by Baby_Fangirl



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, Fluff, Fridget, Mild Abuse, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-10-10 00:51:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baby_Fangirl/pseuds/Baby_Fangirl
Summary: AUDermamoris, a stage where you write on your skin and it shows up on your soulmates.Franky had given up on getting a soulmate, until she finally gets a breakthrough the night before her last year of college begins.





	1. Breakthrough

_91% of the human population experience a connection with their soulmate, scientifically known as _**_Dermamoris_** _between the ages of 17 and 32. __Dermamoris__, a coined phrase literally translating into itself. This connection establishes a link with one person's soulmate, were you write on your skin, and it will show up on your soulmate in the same format in the same place. 8% of the remaining 9 experience the __Dermamoris__ link between the ages of 33 and 64. _

_ The last 1% of the human population has never established a connection with their soulmate. _

“Fuck,” Franky let loose a whistle of unsettled exhaustion as she finished reading the paragraph and pushed the laptop off her knee and onto the empty space beside her on the bed. This was some hardcore shit for what was meant to be a relaxing last day of summer holidays. 

The brunette had never shown much keen interest in the Dermamoris connection before now; but with the whole holidays having nothing to do but think; Doyle had worried more about it than ever before. 

To the regular person, Franky didn’t care about anything, and the idea of Soulmates were so far from the young girls' mind that it seemed as though she’d forgotten about them all together. But the truth was, Franky had a great façade and pretending not to care about anything practically made her untouchable. 

Though a jealousy had started to fester under the surface of tattooed alabaster skin, and it started the first year of college when three weeks into the semester, Bea Smith found her soulmate. Of course it had to be Allie, those two were sickly sweet together. But for the rest of the year, it was all Franky could hear. Red would doodle some cute drawing on her forearm and Allie would show the whole class like they actually cared. 

Franky didn’t like the whole idea of soulmates anyway. What if fate gave her someone she didn’t like? What if Dermamoris set her up with a guy, and she’d have to comply to an awful life just because her arm said it was true love? 

Not only that, but there was a tugging fear in the back of the brunette's mind that she would be that 1%. She belonged to the loveless category. 

So Franky Doyle had spent half of the holidays worrying about the fact that she would get a soulmate; and the other half worrying about the fact that she wouldn’t. 

She was almost excited to go back to college. 

Besides, Franky had written on her arm before, not asking a question or anything, just a simple note, just to test the waters. Unfortunately, there was never a reply. 

Doyle had arranged everything that she would need for the next few days: coursebooks, pens, her laptop, and a change of clothes. This was her last year, her last opportunity to get out of this town, get a job as a lawyer, get her own house, settle down with a chick and maybe get a cat, or something that doesn’t need all her attention. 

Franky wasn’t notoriously known for her hard work at Wentworth high school and College, but she knew that she couldn’t get her glamourous life off some half-assed grades and a sarcastic attitude. 

This year was her year. 

She was just shoving her clothes in the overnight bag when her phone began blaring with that obnoxious skype ringtone. 

Rolling her eyes, Franky excepted the video call and instantly brought on a smile as the screen split and Boomer and Sophie smiled back. 

“Ey you big lugs, missed me ‘ave ya?” Franky jeered at the phone, a grin splitting her face. Despite having metaphorical walls ten-foot-high around her, she had missed her best friends. 

“Franky! Hey! Hey, We missed ya!” Booms beamed at the camera, waving her hand at Franky through the phone. 

Sophie shoved her blonde hair out of her face and rolled her eyes, grinning all the while. “You know we missed you Franky, it’s not my fault you spent the whole Summer cooped up,”. 

The video lagged slightly and Boomer jutted in and out of the screen. 

“I got important plans, Soph, couldn’t leave ‘em, what’s with the Skype call anyway?” the brunette shrugged, the corners of her lips twitching higher. 

Sophie laughed gently and shrugged apologetically, “Just wanted to make sure we were still on for tonight, if you guys were still coming over so we could go to school together,” 

Despite the fact that Sophie was two years younger than Franky and Boomer, the trio really got on well, and had bonded, and become a ‘mums-suck’ squad; but seeing as Sophies mother was the nicest of the three, they usually stayed over more times than not. 

“Yeah, ‘course we’d be comin’, I’m always comin’ for you Soph,” Franky teased, licking her lips in her signature playful manner, interrupted my Boomers confused muttering. 

“The fuck we going to school for? It ain’t till next week,” Booms bleated, causing Sophie to melt down into fits of laughter. The fact was that most schools and colleges alike did go back a week later, but with their luck, they had the headmistress from hell running the place, and had them learning an extra week for ‘educational preparations’. 

“Aw shit, Fuck!” Booms swore, disappearing from the camera screen and Franky could hear the jumble of books falling and draws banging shut as Boomer packed a last-minute college bag. 

“Yeah Sophs, we’ll be there,” Franky chuckled effortlessly and ended the call. 

With that Franky pocketed her phone and swung the overnight bag over her shoulder, leaving the house before her mum got home from cigarette shopping. 

On the double bed of the small room on the second floor of the Doyle house, the laptop screen went dark, no longer showing the research behind the Dermamoris connection. 

It had just gone half eight in the afternoon and Franky, Boomer and Sophie were all habituated on the floor of Sophie’s pristine bedroom, a pizza box now empty laid in the centre of their triangle, and Doyle couldn’t help but feel relaxed and easy with her friends. It was going to be hard to say goodbye to Sophie after the year ended and the brunette could walk out of those doors. 

And it was going to be hard to say goodbye to Boomer when Franky got a big time job offer and had to somewhere incredibly fancy to travel to work each day in a hot Mercedes. 

But for now, Franky just grinned as she watched Sophie wipe a tomato-stain from Boomers chin. 

“So... whatcha guys do on ya holidays?” Franky finally spoke up, tucking her knees into her chest, resting her head on her crossed arms. 

“Oh my god,” Sophie immediately jumped in with a big smile, “Mum took me and Artie to see our Aunt in this caravan thing, and she didn’t drink a single glass the whole trip, and it was so good to just be a family again you know?” there was a pause before the grin fell from the blondes lips faster than gravity should’ve allowed. 

“Oh, you guys I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by-” 

“Nah, it’s cool,” Booms cut in, shaking her head. Neither her nor Franky were daunted by the talk of their mothers, like they’d accepted it and moved on, mostly. “I jus’ went camping with Trina and her boyfriend. It's weird hearing my sister going rumpy-pumpy with her soulmate in the tent next to mine. Some sounds ya jus’ don’t sleep through,”. 

Boomer always had the ability to turn any awkward situation into a laughing fit no matter what, sometimes without even meaning to; she was a gift, and Franky loved her. 

“Rumpy-Pumpy? The fuck? Why can’t ya say fuck, or shag? Or like, anything other than that?” Franky chuckled, and Sophie fell into another bout of hysterics. 

“I can’t wait until I get my soulmate! What about you Franky, did you get in touch with your soulmate over the holidays?” the young blonde, always so eager, was now flicking her gaze over Doyle's bear arms, as if expecting a sonnet, or the worlds sappiest love story to be written on her skin. She held her unblemished arms up for inspection, as if under surrender, shrugging casually and carelessly. 

“Nup. Can’t have a soulmate if ya ain’t got a soul,” Franky played and took a swig from the glass of diet coke resting on a pile of story books that Sophie had generously donated as a cup mat. The pain in her throat was sharp, and her stomach ached, maybe from too much pizza, maybe from the idea of dying alone, who could tell? 

With term starting in less than 11 hours, Liz finally came up to send the girls to their respectable beds. Franky often shared the pull-out couch with Boomer. Sophies room was big enough for the three of them, and the girl had even cleared out two of her drawers for her best friends to keep clothes in when they didn’t want to go back home. Boomer shared Franky’s drawer usually as her own was filled with swiped chocolate bars and hoarded Monte Carlos’. 

Sophie’s soft snores shortly drifted through the room and Franky laid awake, staring at a dust speck on the ceiling. The lamp on the dressing table was still glowing, as always, casting the room in a dull golden light. The mattress dipped under the weight of Boomer shuffling and turning to face her. 

“Franky,” the girl tried to keep her voice down, 

“Go ta sleep, Booms,” the smaller brunette whispered, tugging the covers up to her stomach. 

“Franky.” Boomer hissed again softly, elongating the _ y _in her name. 

“Boomer,” Franky whined like she was discipling a kitten, not really up to a heart to heart conversation this late at night. 

“Franky!” the other girl snapped, still hushed to avoid waking up their friend, and shoved Franky’s shoulder in attempt to get her attention. 

Doyle cussed, and bolted upright in the sofa-bed, turning to Jenkins with a soft annoyance in her brow, “What?” she whispered, as if anything could justify Boomer’s persistence. 

“Look!” the bigger girl pointed towards Franky’s own arm, and a barely audible gasp escaped her. 

Sure enough, there on her arm were just a couple of words, written in fine, cursive writing. 

_ Don’t forget: _

_ Laptop _ ◻ 

_ ID pass _◻ 

_ Psych books _◻ 

Each had a little check box next to the item, as if whoever wrote this was really going to tick them off. 

“Oh fuck, it’s- it’s my... my...” Franky stammered, her words stuttering from her lips like drunken fools tripping the straight path home. 

“It’s ya soulmate!” Boomer announced, so delighted that she forgot to whisper. 

On the other side of town, in a smart, small house, Bridget Westfall mentally prepared herself for her very first day on the job. She'd never worked in a school before, and she’d run every possibly outcome through her mind for the first day debacle. The more she thought, the more she worried that she’d make a fool of herself. Hell, she’d even made a checklist, just in case her alarm didn’t go off and she needed to grab the important things. 

Eventually satisfied with the preparation of her work bag and her pre-planned outfit, the soon to be psychology teacher retired to her bedroom, to try and fit at least six hours into her sleeping pattern. Peeling off her blouse and dress pants, Bridget slipped into navy blue shorts and an oversized grey t-shirt, reaching to switch off the lamp when it caught her eye. 

Dim blue eyes widened as her lips involuntarily parted with shock. 

_ Don’t forget: _

_Laptop_ ◻ 

_ID pass_ ◻ 

_Psych books_ ◻ 

**Say g’morning to soulmate** **◻**


	2. Informalities

Bridget made herself at home in the open auditorium. It wasn’t too big, neither was it too small, and could probably fit a hundred students; and she wondered optimistically how many seats would be filled for the first day of classes. 

She’d managed a decent night’s sleep, having eventually drifted off, smiling at the loopy, bold writing on her arm at the bottom of her list. 

Falling into the 8% category hadn’t been easy; and her family hadn’t been too understanding, from the age of twenty-two they were constantly asking about when she would settle down and start her own family. Westfall had succeeded in the settling down part; she couldn’t put her life on hold for someone who might not even exist. 

But starting her own family might be a challenge when you were into girls, and might never have a soulmate.

Besides her own family had been her clients, people who had genuinely needed her. 

The blonde let a soft exhale dissipate from her lips as she stood behind the podium, arranging her talking notes in order, when a short, almost inaudible knock sounded from the doorway. The Deputy-Head offered a simple smile before inviting herself into the mostly empty auditorium. 

“Miss Westfall, I’m glad to see you found your way,” The small brunette nodded warmly, extending out a hand, that Bridget accepted in a friendly shake. “I’m Miss Bennett, Deputy Head mistress of Wentworth. I’m usually in the faculty room if you have any questions.” The mousey woman offered and the psychologist dipped her head with a genuine grin.

“Thank you, Miss Bennett, but I’m sure I’ll be alright,” Bridget assured rather keenly, turning to set up her laptop slides before class as Vera still stood, almost awkwardly until she broke the silence, clearing her throat and handed the other woman a sheet of paper.

“This is your class schedule, lunch break is at twelve thirty every day, but as you can see you have early lunches on Thursdays to supervise the dining hall for the college students,” Vera piped up helpfully as soft, blue eyes scanned the rota. It looked simple enough.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s great, thank you, Miss Bennett,” An easy, respectable smile stuck on Bridget's lightly glossed lips.

The small woman nodded apathetically before hurrying towards the door as if this whole situation had been just a detour.

* * *

Franky, Boomer and Sophie had all eaten and got ready in unison before Liz dropped them off at the front gates, leaving all three girls to their fate of starting a new year. They all went for their timetables and then for their photos that would be stuck on their ID card for the rest of the academic year.

She hadn’t told anyone besides her two friends of her soulmate connection. Doyle had awoken that morning with the list erased; a small tick in the box she had drawn beside her request; and a small _ ‘Good Morning’ _ half way up her forearm. Franky had thought about it, and had eventually figured it  _ had _ to be someone at the same school. They were the only school going back a week early after all.

Dressed in a pair of ripped black jeans, a red flannel shirt and her signature jewellery, Franky was ready to face the day with a carefree attitude and an iced coffee. Her schedule consisted mostly of law studies, psychology and Study periods, with core English and Language studies on the side, and in case her big dreams failed, she had cookery courses and acting to fall back on.

Some days when Sophie’s mum was blacked out on the couch after getting her hands on the grog, Franky would make sure she had her house alone, and would cook for her and her friends. Surprisingly, she wasn’t half bad with a few eggs and a spatula. 

Mr  Bades ’ auditorium was already half full when the brunette entered. It was no surprise. The old man had taught psychology every year and more often than not, fell asleep at the desk, woke up when the bell signalled the end of the class, gave everyone a B+ and people had elected to take this course, even if they knew nothing about it, just to tuck the grade under their belt and have an impressive result on their resumé.

Unlike almost everyone else in the room, Franky was actually interested in the course, it was always good to understand everything about your client and their behaviour in court.

She sat more towards the top of the auditorium, slinging her bag off her shoulder and dropped her book on the desk, putting one leg behind the metal bar that connected the desk to the chair and the other leg underneath the desk, tapping furiously. Another thirty students piled into the auditorium, either sitting in groups or by their lonesome.

When the door swung open just seconds before the bell rang, bright blue eyes widened. It took a moment of wondering how Mr Bade had lost all of that weight, and how his hair grew out, and how he looked so good... until it hit her like a frying pan. That wasn’t Mr Bade.

She knew how to move, with an elegant posture, and determined stride. She wore a tight blue blouse with sleeved rolled up to her elbows, and long, smart, black trousers hugging her ankles where the heeled boots began.

The blonde woman crossed straight to the board and wrote a ten-digit number. 

“First thing first, I don’t do formalities. My name is Miss Westfall, but I want you all to know me as Bridget. Secondly, that’s my number on the board, I’d like for each of you to take it and if you ever need an extension, or can’t turn up to class, or just need help, shoot me a message. I want each of you to feel like we can get along,”.

Bridget announced to the room, and there was a lot of blinking in return. Was a hot woman really giving out her number to a bunch of teenagers? Franky didn’t care what strategies the woman used to befriend her students, as long as she taught well and got her through the exams.

People were scribbling down the number here and there. It couldn’t hurt. And Franky pulled her bag onto the desk to get her laptop. After three attempts of frantic rummaging, the brunettes heart plummeted, realizing the laptop wasn’t in its place. It must have still been on the bed back home.

“It’s important for you all to realize that psychology is all about the person you’re working with, or talking to,”

“Shit,” Doyle muttered under her breath, sinking back into her chair. She sighed, uncapping a pen, and scrawled the number on her arm.

“Some people want just want you to- …” Franky studied the new teacher carefully as she paused abruptly. She must have been nervous. Either way, Bridget continued “To listen. Others want you to help,”.

Franky cast her glance around the rest of the auditorium, it was mostly full by this point, but only twenty people actually seemed to be listening to the blonde. 

The Brunette couldn’t not pay attention to the woman, she had a way of speaking that made Franky want to listen forever. Alright, she was gorgeous, she could tell from her seat all the way back there, and for a sudden second Doyle almost wished that she was closer to the front.

A smug smirk tugged at the brunette's lips as she tuned back into what the teacher was actually saying.

“There are three things that are a psychologist's best friend, they’ll help your every situation. Eye contact,-”

Bridget tried not to gasp as the writing began on her arm again.

  * **Eye contact**

“Sympathising with your client,” she continued steadily.

  * **Eye contact**
  * **Sympathise**

“And connecting over mutual trust, and the best way to start is with informalities, first names, etcetera” Bridget finished, trying to keep the waver from her voice.

  * **Eye contact**
  * **Sympathise**
  * **Mutual Trust + informal**

‘She’s here... she’s in this room’ Bridget thought, with a swallow stuck in her throat, her eyes scanning frantically through the group of over sixty students. Realizing she had stopped talking altogether, she put her arm at her side and continued her lecture.

“F-for example,” the professionalism returned to her voice instantaneously as Bridget rolled her sleeves down to her wrists, casting her dim blue gaze throughout the crowd, meeting the eye of half the students now. 

“I know most of you wanted the last teacher, and I’m not what you were expecting, and now you're actually going to have to do some work instead of dancing on the tables this year,” a short bout of laughter arose from several places in the room.

“But believe me, it is my best interest to get all of your through my class, but we’re going to have to work together, alright?” Franky even pulled a smile at that one. At least this teacher actually gave a crap about her education.

“What’s your name, up there?” it took far too long for the brunette to realise that the new teacher was looking directly at her, and her cheeks reddened ever so slightly. She wasn’t the type to answer questions aloud, she was the type that slouched and wrote down notes. Seconds passed before the girl cleared her throat.

“Franky, Name’s Franky,” Franky answered, trying not to sound too bombarded by the surprise. And the psychologist smiled at her and nodded.

“Well, in that case Franky, I really hope to give you the help you need to smash your psychology exam this year,” Bridget smiled again before moving on with the lesson after proving her point, leaving Franky with that smirk still plastered on her lips. Informalities really were the fastest way to make friends.

When the bell rang to signify the end of class, everyone instantly stood up, and packed their books into their bags, by the last twenty minutes, Westfall had everyone’s attention, and nobody seemed to remember, or miss Mr Bade. Students filed out the door in a surge of bodies, more like a stampede in a rush to get to their next classes, but Franky wasn’t so hasty to shove herself into line, instead, taking her own sweet time in packing up her belongings, and dawdling to the front of the auditorium where the older woman was closing the slides. 

“ Ya realize  ya probably  gonna get prank called by a bunch a hormonal teenage girls  thinkin ’ they're rebels?” the brunette stated, practically making the other woman jump, even that  short reaction brought a deeper smirk to Doyle’s lips. 

“Franky,” the teacher remembered fondly, a grin forming on her features as she turned to properly face the student. She shrugged. “I just think it’s important to establish a circle of trust with my students,”.

The dark-haired girl let a humourless chuckle bounce from her lips, “So  ya weren’t even  bullshittin ’?  Ya care ‘bout the losers here,  Gidget ?” the girl was both surprised and caught off guard, always having the idea that as soon as three o’clock rolled about, the teachers forgot all about the lives of college students and soaked their despair in a corner bar. 

“Of course I do,” The blonde admitted, blinking suddenly before shaking her head softly with a grin, “and actually, it’s Bridget,” the psych teacher corrected, only for Doyle to shrug her shoulders with a smirk.

“I think I like  Gidget ,” The older woman let a small chuckle vibrate from her throat just as the bell sounded again, and Franky groaned, ending in a sigh. “Think  ya could sign me a hall pass or  somethin ’?” 

“I’ll do you one better, I’ll walk you to your next class, I have a free period now anyway,”

Bridget escorted Franky to her English class which only happened to be on the other side of the building, and even through Franky made small conversation (what courses she was taking and why she liked psychology so much), she made a habit of toying with her kite string necklace, the only trait that ever gave away she was nervous. 

After politely knocking on the door of the assigned classroom, Bridget came face to face yet again with Vera. “I’m so sorry Miss Bennett, I asked Franky to help me with a few things, I didn’t mean to steal her from your class,” the blonde apologized and Franky sat down in a seat next to Doreen and on a table with Red and Boomer. 

“It’s alright, Miss Westfall, thank you,” the small brunette nodded, and Franky cast her gaze to the window in the door, listening to the retreating heels of the newly named  Gidget . 

Doyle sourly turned her attention to the front of the class where the deputy head was rambling something about connotations, when Boomer leant forward over the desk, trying to speak yet again in a loud whisper. 

“Ey, ya wanna know who’s back?” Jenkins grinned, nodding to the very front of the class, where a dark-haired girl turned around, and smiled at Franky. 

And Franky Doyle just stared back at Kim Chang.


	3. Kite Tail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: This chapter contains mild abuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have had a few days off work in a row, hence why I've been adding chapters every day, just note that when I'm back at work I won't be so dedicated as to write each day, but I'll still get my chapters done, promise. ~ Baby Fangirl xo

Kimmy and Franky had once had an on and off relationship back when they were both three years into high school, but then Kim’s rich parents took her off to study abroad whilst they worked for a new company, and that was when Franky understood how unfair life was. 

She had already had quite the shitty life experience; her dad had walked out on her family when she was just ten years old, subjecting her to the wrath of her mum. She was a nobody, and had created a name for herself in school years by acting up, secretly hoping that her bad behaviour warranted a good enough reason for her dad to come home, but all it ever gave her was furious words and burns from her mother. 

But when Kimmy had walked out on her too, Franky finally got a taste of how easy she was to leave. How little she really mattered to the world. And that feeling fucking sucked balls. 

So, throughout the entire English class, Franky kept her head down, staring daggers into the coursework that sat on the desk before her, until only ten minutes into the lesson, she caught sight of small, neat handwriting just escape the cuff of her flannel. 

_ It’s good to see somebody was taking notes in there. _

Franky’s jaw dropped, barely pushing the material up her arm to read the message. Hastily, she pulled a pen from her pocket and bit the lid off, to reply. 

** You were in my Psych class? **

The brunette waited impatiently for about twenty seconds before the scrawling began again, just underneath her own. 

_ You can say that, _

The student immediately swallowed thickly, her head spinning. There were about sixty other girls in that Auditorium with her; and it caused a sinking feeling in her gut to realise that not one of them had caught her eye as a potential soulmate. 

It was always a hundred units to loud in the cafeteria at lunch time; every single girl at Wentworth seemed to be talking at this same time in a voice much louder than what was acceptable for indoor communication. Franky hadn’t told Boomer or Sophie about the latest unravelling of the Dermamoris mystery, to be fair, she hadn’t really felt much like talking... or eating, apparently, as she picked at the burger on her tray like it was still alive. 

She only really began to pay attention to the world around her when someone plonked themselves on the stool next to her, and immediately enveloped Franky in a suffocating hug. 

“What the hell? Get off me!” Doyle shoved the girl hard, a look of shock and distain gracing her sharp features; the total opposite of hurt and shock on Kimmy’s face. 

“I just wanted to say Hi, Franky,” the tanned girl excused, the whine evident in her voice. 

Franky nodded curtly, pursing her lips for just a moment, her brows arching as if Kim was expecting something else. “Alright, you said it, now fuck off,” Both Boomer and Sophie were sat in stunned silence, both having thought that Chang’s return would have been a treat for their best friend. 

“Do you want me to say that I’m sorry my parents shipped me off to some boarding school?” Kim raised her voice dramatically, causing a few heads to turn in their direction. “Cause I will. I’m sorry, Franky. You gotta know that I never stopped loving you,” 

“The why the fuck didn’t you call, or write?” Franky hissed, unlike Kimmy, she didn’t care much for the attention their reunion was attracting. “I’m fucking done with you, I’m not messin’ around this year, I’m serious. I’m studying my ass off, and them I’m getting the fuck out of this place.” It was as honest as Franky had been in a while, but some people just needed a slap in the face with brutal reality. 

“Franky...” Kimmy began softly, but Boomer finally stood up in defence. 

“She said fuck off, already! Move ya ass an’ ya tray or I’ll punch ya fuckin’ tits in!” If there hadn’t been much attention on the group beforehand, there certainly was now, and Franky could feel an anger crawling underneath her skin. 

“Sit down Jenkins!” Mr Jackson, the teacher currently on lunch duty, called over the rest of the mumbled noise. Franky didn’t even look as Kimmy stormed away from the table. 

As the school day dragged to a close, Franky messaged Boomer, saying that she was going to head home for her laptop and a bunch of spare clothes, and had simply received a laughing emoji in return. 

She’d taken the bus route to the end of her street, and walked a few houses up. Franky felt lonely looking up at the house that she had never really been able to call home. Home was where parents didn’t scream at each other and throw cups and vases; home was where mums listened to your days at school, and made cookies when you were sad; home was where you could walk through the front door after a crappy day at college, find your mum and hug her. For Franky, her home had been the park bench where she’d fed a swarm of pigeons what was left of her sandwich, and home had been the pull-out bed in Sophie's room. 

Taking a deep breath, Doyle slipped into the house that should have been a home, and raced past the living room, straight upstairs to her one corner of the place that she could relax. 

Franky threw her laptop in her bag along with a pair of denim shorts, an extra tank top and a hoodie, before gathering the courage to make the journey back to the front door. 

She was three feet from the hallway when her mother called to her from the armchair in the living room. 

“Not even a ‘hello’ Francessca? You go for days on end and don’t even bother with your own mum,” 

The brunette considered replying with, ‘you don’t bother with your own daughter’, but instead just sauntered into the middle of the room, observing her mother, fortified in the chair with a cigarette in one hand, the other placing a drink back onto the small table she’d dragged in between herself and the TV for easy access to her whiskey glass. 

“I was just getting some college stuff,” Franky shrugged slightly, not that her mother even cared. 

“In and out like a thief in the night, nobody would think you actually lived here. Just take the food I provide for you, take the money I need pay the bills and you fuck off without so much as a thank you,” the older woman scorned, tapping her ash onto the tray. 

Franky paused, stunned. “Thank you? What-” 

“You always were such an ungrateful child, Francesca, your father knew that too, that’s why he left, y’know? He knew what you were going to become and he didn’t want any fucking part of it, nobody wants to be a part of the mess that you are,” her mother spat, taking another drag from the cigarette and blew a thin stream of pearly smoke in the girls direction. 

A painful rage boiled beneath Franky’s skin as she surged forward, slamming her hands down on the table in front of her mother. “Dad left because you’re a shitty person, and you’re too lazy to get off your arse and care for your fucking family!” she shouted back, breathless from anger. 

Without a seconds warning, the woman leant forward and struck the burning cigarette butt into the back of Franky’s hand, only watching as the girl gasped in pain, obviously trying too hard not to react. 

It was as if years of memories flooded back with that one familiar and awful sensation, ten-year old Franky whimpering under the covers in her bed, not wanting to move a muscle, in case it aggravated the stinging welts on her arms, back and neck. 

Franky pulled her hand away, storming for the door as she swiped angrily a rogue, hot tear that fell down her cheek. 

She didn’t cry. Not any more. 

Doyle stopped off at a bus station on her walk over to Sophie’s and wrapped her hand in a bunch of damp paper towels. 

Bridget had been in the middle of heating a frozen meal for one in the microwave when it had appeared, an angry red circle on the back of her right hand. It didn’t hurt, and by touch alone, she couldn’t even feel that it was there. It was just a small, red stamp, temporarily tattooed on her hand. 

The blonde woman pulled out almost every drawer in her kitchen looking for a pen, one that worked at least, and at last found a ballpoint. 

_ Are you okay? _

She wrote quickly on the inside of her elbow, almost forgetting to breathe. The blemish looked like it should have really hurt. 

Minutes passed, and Bridget had perched anxiously on the arm of her sofa, staring at her own arms, waiting for some sort of reply, anything to let her know that her soulmate was at least alright. She’d completely forgotten about the lasagne in the microwave. 

A gasp escaped from Westfalls soft lips as thick, black pen wrote just beneath hers. 

** Yep. Practically perfect in every way. **

Although the statement sounded fine; Bridget couldn’t help but think that it was just a tough façade. Words were nothing, words held no sentimental or conditional value. Words could be used far too easily. 

The psychology teacher bit down on the end of the pen before writing on her arm again. 

_ What happened? _

She waited. Whoever her soulmate was, was certainly stubborn. She received no reply, no matter how long she stared at her skin, and with a sigh, finally went to retrieve her now cold dinner, half an hour later. 

Bridget couldn’t help but check every three minutes, that her soulmate hadn’t written. The pit of her stomach felt like rubber, and it was hard to concentrate on anything else; her soulmate was hurt, and the fact alone was just as bad as the fact that she couldn’t do anything about it. 

Westfall fell asleep, yet again staring at her arm, wishing the world was a nicer place for at least one individual. 

* * *

The next day, Franky felt as though she could have won an award for a whole new level of avoidance. She'd had Cookery and Language studies that morning; neither were classes that Kim had taken, so the brunette had relaxed, and made cakes like a pro. Doyle seemed to have a gift with a mixing bowl, and now had a bow of twelve, adorable and perfect cupcakes that she planned to share with Boomer and Sophie later that night. 

Franky hadn’t wanted to show her face in the dining hall again so soon after the Kimmy explosion the day before, so had resorted to finding a small secluded area in the hall to settle down and much on one of her cupcakes. 

After dusting the crumbs from her shorts, Franky pulled a pen from her jacket pocket and began to doodle halfway down her forearm. She kind of felt a little guilty for not replying to her soulmate the night before, but she wasn’t all too keen on the idea of telling a stranger all about her mum, what would happen if they told the rest of the school? 

Her hand was now wrapped in an oversized cloth, which nobody really mentioned, everyone knew that Franky’s style was different to other girls’, and they just passed the fabric off as a lame accessory. 

She had just finished drawing the tail to the kite that was now flying on her arm when a pair of heeled boots almost stood on her. A surprised squeak escaped the psychologist as she stumbled past Doyle, careful so as not to accidentally hurt the brunette, and just managed to save her balance and the cup of coffee that was now slightly dripping onto the tiled floor. 

“Jesus Franky!” Bridget exclaimed, just managing to regain her breath and her composure, standing back upright. 

Doyle had to try and hold back a laugh, even if she knew it wasn’t funny that she almost killed a teacher, “Wow Gidget, I can’t believe ya practically fell for me,” the girl teased, crossing her legs instead to take up less room of the hallway. “Sorry though, I didn’t mean ta intentionally trip ya,” she grinned up at the blonde with an easy smirk. 

The woman looked great again today in a long-sleeved white blouse with tight grey leggings, and black, fingerless gloves. She had style, Franky had to give her that. She almost felt underdressed in her denim shorts, a red tank and black oversized jacket which she was effectively using as a cushion. 

“What are you doing down there? You’re a trip hazard!” Westfall questioned. 

“That’s the nicest thing ya ever said to me Gidget. And would you believe me if I said I was saving the world?” Bridget shook her head with a small smile gracing her features. “Then I guess I’m just chillin’,” 

The teacher indicated to her classroom with the coffee cup, “Did you want to save the world in the auditorium so you’re not sat out here?” Franky’s smirk deepened at the offer, and nodded curtly. 

Bridget immediately sat down behind her desk, and Franky took the seat closest to the front, watching the blonde place down her coffee at least twenty inches away from the laptop. “Ya ain’t one of those women that get up to jog at six am, grab a coffee for lunch and eat crouton-less salad for dinner to fall in bed by seven are ya?” Doyle piqued up, making Westfall chuckle slightly and shake her head. 

“No, I can assure you I’m definitely not one of those women. I was just running late this morning, that’s all,” Bridget spun her chair to face Franky instead of the computer screen, taking her lid off the cup to sip from the side. 

The beam on Franky’s lips hadn’t waved a single bit as she stood up and waltzed to the front desk, “In that case ya have ta have one of my secret recipe five-star cupcakes,” Doyle demanded, offering the box over to Bridget who instantly tried to decline. “Ya can’t not eat when ya got a bunch of teenagers to drain ya energy all day,” 

The older woman smiled gratefully, never having expected anyone, especially Franky to take an interest in her eating schedule, and delicately took a cupcake from the box. “Thank you Franky, What’s so secret about your secret recipe cupcakes?” Bridget asked curiously, only to receive a harsh shake of the head. 

“It’s called a secret for a reason Gidge!” the brunette protested with a short burst of laughter, before putting the lid back on the container. Westfall was biting into the sweet, fluffy cake when she noticed it. She swallowed the bite before narrowing her blue eyes. 

“What happened to your hand?” Bridget asked cautiously, her voice clearly laced with primary concern as she stood from the chair to better reach Doyle’s height. 

The girl just shrugged, returning both her hands to her pockets as she brought a grin to her lips by simple command. This grin was different, it wasn’t joyful, it was a front. “Punched a wall,”. 

“Let me see.” the blonde hushed and instantly, her student shook her head fiercely, “Franky, please, I don’t want to have you see the headmistress or the nurse, so please just let me look at it,” Bridget asked again, with some form of professional sympathy as she held her hand out for Doyle. 

The girl was obviously torn between giving in and storming out, her features contorting in an unrecognizable sequence, like she was stuck between a rock and a hard place, finally with a huff and then a sigh, she let her injured hand fall into the open palm of Miss Westfall. 

Bridget unravelled the cloth ever so carefully, as if she was afraid her mere touch would hurt the girl, until the cloth fell away, revealing a pained reddened welt on the back of her hand. The blonde swallowed back a gasp. 

“That’s a hot wall, Franky,” the psych teacher softly whispered, the genuine care in her voice was foreign to the brunette, who tried not to look as though the situation bothered her, so she shrugged again, pretending that she was fine. “I’m going to get the first aid kit out of the cupboard, don’t you move,”. 

Bridget hastily left and returned carrying a green box, which she sifted through on her desk, pulling out a small tube. “This is the ointment they use in the science labs to soothe Bunsen burns,” she took Franky’s hand again and the brunette bit down on her lip to stop from tearing up. It stung, sure, but the reason behind her sudden emotion, was the fact that nobody had ever cared enough to do anything like this. 

Franky cleared all traces of emotion from her voice as she coughed slightly, “Will I live, doctor?” she asked as Bridget softly rubbed the cream into her burn, and the blonde smiled up at her with all the sweetness of a kitten on a pillow. 

“I think you might just make it,” the blonde played back, sticking the plastic cover of the bandage into the bin, and expertly wrapped her hand in the medical material. Bridget grinned softly as she worked, turning Franky’s hand to tie the finishing knot around her wrist. 

And saw a small kite on her arm, followed by her own, slanted writing. 

_ Are you okay? _

_What happened?_


	4. Think Sleepover

“So... what did Westfall say to you?” Sophie asked before shovelling a fork full of rice into her mouth. The trio of best friends sat around the  oak wood  table in Franky's dining room on a Wednesday evening, three plates of homemade curry in front of each of them. Doyle had made herself at home in the kitchen, considering her mum had left that morning to take a five-day bender at her Aunt’s for the ‘weekend’.

Franky leant back in her chair, tapping her fork against the side of the plate quietly as she thought, “She said the kite I drew was pretty, then asked me about my soulmate, an’ I told her that she was in our Psych class, -”. 

“Wait, your soulmate’s in your class and you didn’t tell us?” Sophie exclaimed, cutting into the sentence, her jaw practically hitting her plate. The brunette  merely  shrugged apologetically.

“What else happened?” Boomer looked up from her almost finished plate for the first time, and a tingling smile started to grow on Franky’s lips, glancing down at her rice. 

“She said I should try talking to my soulmate more, and that she’s my soulmate for a reason,” Doyle had to agree that Bridget had been right, but there was still a nagging doubt about  spilling all her secrets to a random person, even if they were connected by ‘fate’. 

Booms dropped her cutlery onto a clear plate with a clatter, “Well I  coulda told  ya that!” the girl assumed, helping herself to a third helping of Franky’s  amazing  cooking. 

“So,  Soph , got any favourite teachers?” Franky asked teasingly, trying to steer the conversation away from her soulmate, it got slightly annoying when her two friends were more invested in her relationship than she was.

The blonde thought a small moment before nodding. “I think my maths teacher is kind of cute, Mr Stewart, he’s got that dreamy kind of look, and a chin,”

“What  kinda fuckin’ guys do you know without a chin Sophie?” Booms badgered with a laugh before shaking her head, “I got my eye on the cupcake of a doctor,” she admitted loudly with a beam on her lips. 

Franky ar ched  a brow with a  curious  grin, “What, Radcliffe?” Boomer fake gagged quickly , shaking her head even quicker .

“Nah, the male one, the one who gives  ya meds an’ shit, Mr Miller, I’d throw  meself down the stairs every day for a sip of his medicine,” the other two girls made an uproar of a groan, not needing that sort of imagery over their dinner. 

“What about you, Franky?” Sophie returned the question, eager to get away from Boomer and her  medical  man-crush.

The brunette swapped a glance between Sophie, and her rice, not sure where to direct her answer. She cleared her throat slightly. “My psych teacher’s kind of hot,” the girl admitted with a grin.

“Oh my god Franky! I can’t believe you’re cheating on your soulmate already!”  Soph howled, and Boomer charged into a course of ‘Franky and Bridget sitting in a tree’. 

“Really mature guys, so sensible,” the eldest girl shook her head, trying not to laugh.

Not too long after her friends both left, leaving Doyle alone in an empty house, the brunette debated with herself mentally before fishing a pen out of the well of her college bag, and sat cross-legged on the couch before deciding what to write. The last thing her soulmate had written was ‘what happened?’ and Bridget had told her to start trusting the person on the other end of their link. 

That was what their psychology class had been all about, right? Forming a connection with mutual trust. The bottom of her stomach felt like rocky waters, ready to sink any ship that came it’s way, it felt dangerous, and nerve-wrecking, and Franky bit her lip, before pressing pen to skin.

** It was my mum. **

There, t he t ruth was out, and no matter how hard she might try, there was no stuffing the  black  cat back into its bag. A weight seemed to fall from the young woman’s shoulders, and a short chuckle of relief passed Franky’s lips. 

About ten minutes later, her soulmate replied with nothing but support and sweetness, causing a genuine grin to form on the  brunette's countenance, which only the lamp in the corner got to witness. For the duration of the next hour, Franky and God-knows-who sat talking, scribbling notes on their skin, in small writing, back and forth.

Her soulmate was kind, and funny, and Franky couldn’t help but let the other girl know, when she took her pen in the bath with her, when there was no more room for even the smallest of sentences. 

It was well into one o’clock in the morning when her soulmate confessed that she tired, and that she had an early morning ahead of her. Doyle sent her nameless soulmate to bed with a cute drawing of an arrow-pierced heart; it was given that she was no Bea smith, but her doodles weren’t half bad.

Franky woke up late, at ten on Thursday morning, already having missed first period. To be more than honest, it didn’t make too much of a big deal, considering that she’d spent a lot of her holidays studying the content of the courses, to get as much leverage as possible for the new year. And already, not even a week into the semester, Franky was top of her classes, next to Red of course. 

Sauntering down to the kitchen, Doyle prepared a grand breakfast of  cheerios , whilst flicking through the contacts of her phone. She’d had a text from Boomer demanding to know where she was, and then wondering who she was going to sit with at lunch, before remembering that Sophie existed. But she ignored it, finding ‘ Gidget’s number, which she had transferred from her arm to her phone the same day she got it. 

{Hey Gidget, not going to be in class today, don’t miss me too much, just put aside any worksheets n stuff, yeah?} she sent the text before proof reading it, figuring the psych teacher would know who sent it, just by the addressing. 

Doyle didn’t even switch off her phone before a blue bubble popped up on her screen.

{No problem Franky, I hope you’re okay,} the text message sent a rush of  _ something _ through the girl, who bit her lip as she  threw her phone onto the chair, before plonking down with her bowl and her spoon.

Franky had shamelessly spent all day in front of the TV, either smashing the levels of Mario cart, or becoming invested in a new series on Netflix. She’d only moved to inspect the lacking contents of the fridge. She was currently curled up on the couch in front of ‘American Horror Story’, quite comfortable in a plain white tank top and a pair of blue, tiger striped underwear.

Doyle practically died of a heart attack when the doorbell rang, and the brunette spent far too long stripping the sofa of its cushions in the long-lost search for the remote. The bell rang again, just as Franky yanked open the door, to see Bridget on the doormat with an apologetic smile. Her own look of shock morphed into a teasing grin as she leant against the doorframe.

Bridget was dressed in a smart black skirt and a sky-blue blouse, with a leather jacket hugging her figure perfectly. 

The blondes sweet, blue eyes accidentally wondered from the girls long, bear legs, to the small part of flat stomach that was showing between the blue band of her underwear and the tank top. The teacher mentally berated herself as she worked on an opening.

“You’ve got a sixth sense.” Franky  accused smugly before Westfall even had the chance to explain what she was doing on the property. A look of confusion swept over the older woman's features.

“Alright, enlighten me.” Bridget caved in so easily, and Doyle couldn’t help but roll her tongue over her lower lip in her signature smug grin before continuing.

“ Ya can sense when there’s a cute girl home alone in her underwear,” The brunette played, noticing how the psychologist’s lips dared to pull into a small grin, it was a clear battle, and for a moment, the blonde didn’t know what to say.

“I- I brought you the coursework that we did in class today. I also wanted to make sure you’re alright,” she smiled carefully, pulling the pristine papers out of her bag and held them out to Franky who made no effort to take them. 

“Did ya wanna come in?” The girl grinned, budging from the doorway to hold the door open instead, prompting Westfall inside. “I’ll put some pants on so it’s not weird,” Franky promised, with an adorable grin, and Bridget couldn’t help but return it as she stepped inside with a soft ‘thank you’.

It was quite tidy, Franky had shoved the dishes into the washer, and hadn’t moved enough to make much of a mess, there were a handful of empty crisp packets on the arm of the couch, but that was about it. 

Bridget placed the bunch of papers on the table whilst Doyle skidded off to pull a pair of leggings on over her long legs. 

“ Ya must’ve missed me,” Franky declared, trudging back downstairs and fell into one side of the couch. “ Ya can sit down,  Gidget ,” She teased again, and the blonde rolled her eyes with a grin, before joining the girl on the sofa.

“So, are you okay?” Bridget asked again, a hint of worry was just detectable in her tone, yet Franky pretended not to notice. 

“Course I am, I just felt like a ‘me’ day,  y’know ?” Doyle grinned, crossing her legs, with her ankle on her knee and watching  Gidget’s every move and expression. “Are  _ you  _ okay?” she retaliated, just as the doorbell went again, and blue eyes sparkled, “Damn, saved by the bell  Gidge ,” 

The tall brunette skipped to the door before returning with a bag of Chinese food, “I order for a  fucken village so help yaself,” Bridget smiled shaking her head softly.

“I’m alright Franky,” The blonde took a deep breath. This was her soulmate. Franky was cute, and as a teacher, she wasn’t even allowed to admit it. But she’d gotten to know the girl a lot more through the course of the night before, and saw everything past the tough girl front. “Is this coven?” the woman asked, nodding to the paused TV, and a brilliant smirk lit up Franky’s lips.

“ Ya watch it?” Doyle asked, tearing open the plastic containers, having retrieved two forks and two bottles of sprite from the kitchen. 

“I’m half way through,” Bridget nodded, settling into the couch like she’d already forgotten where she was; and Franky budged closer to share the many cartons of food she’d ordered, before finding the episode that Westfall was at, pressing play. She didn’t mind  rewatching .

They watched the show peacefully together, Bridget had relented and did share the Chinese after all. Having already seen the episode, Franky had accidentally spent more time watching the psych teacher, than the events on screen. The way the blonde reacted to the scenes, with small, silent gasps, and devoted attention made the girl smile.

When her phone started blaring ‘P! nk ’, Franky anxiously tried to find both her phone and the remote in the avalanche of cushion on the sofa. Bridget claimed the remote and paused the show, whilst Franky found her phone.

“It’s mum,” she murmured, before answering the call. “What  d’ya mean, where am I? At school... I  dunno why they text you... I went to take a dump, jeez... I can answer my phone in the hall, if  ya didn’t want me  ta pick up, why the fuck did  ya ring me? ...Look, Miss Westfall is right in front of me... Nah, she doesn’t want  ta talk to ya!” Franky began raising her voice into her mobile, and Bridget mouthed ‘hand me the phone’. Reluctantly, Franky agreed.

“Hi there, this is Bridget Westfall, your daughter’s psychology teacher, I can confirm that she’s right here... Your daughter is actually the smartest student in her class,” the line hung up and the blonde handed the girl back the phone, “Your mother must think you are the dumbest person alive, ‘Well, she definitely needs help in Psychology.’ What does that even mean?” Bridget scoffed. Franky had confessed everything about her mother in the early hours of the morning, and right now, Westfall just wanted to be able to hug the girl, and tell her everything was alright.

Franky shrugged, placing her phone on the arm of the couch. “My mums a n ass, ”.

“That was so rude of her. Of all of the students whose parents shouldn’t trust them, yours is definitely not one of them,” Bridget stated, and Franky grinned at the woman who looked to be getting a little angry on her behalf. It was sweet and felt her bats stir in her stomach again.

“I think  ya’v got a soft spot for me, Miss Westfall,” Franky teased again, nudging the older woman, before leaning over her to reach the remote and press play, she could practically smell the teacher's jasmine perfume. In the darkness of the room, merely lit by the television screen, Doyle could swear she saw Bridget blush.

“I, have a soft spot, for Chinese,” The woman answered back, and with that, stole the last dumpling, whilst accidentally leaning against Franky, who had an inanimate grin plastered on her face.

Franky awoke with a sharp pain in her neck, the only light in the room coming from the still, grey screen display ‘are you still watching ‘American Horror Story’. A moment of disorientation prompted the brunette to glance around, and her heart stopped, finding Bridget Westfall asleep against her, head tucked into the crook of her neck, striped socked feet curled up on the other side of the couch.

She reached for her phone, and the blinding light caused Doyle to wince, and apparently stirred the blonde as well, who rubbed her eyes in an attempt to wake up. “What time is it?” her voice was quiet and drugged with sweet fatigue.

“Twelve minutes past three,” Franky herself grumbled in a voice too low to be her own, she cleared her throat softly, sitting up properly and switched off the TV.

“I should probably go,” Bridget murmured, running a hand through her blonde hair that had come loose during the night, and Franky turned to the older woman, shaking her head, before realizing that in the darkness, Westfall couldn’t see. 

“ Ya can’t be driving at this time,  ya’d cause an accident,” Apparently, Bridget wasn’t up for an argument, and Doyle heard a soft sigh come from the black shape on her couch. “Come on,  Gidge , grab my hand,” It took a bit of fumbling in the dark, but when fingers finally did interlock, Franky could have gasped. Bridget's hands were warm, and fit nicely in her own. 

Doyle flicked the torch on her phone, and helped her sleepy psych teacher up the stairs.

“I’ll get  ya some clothes, an’  ya can take my bed, I can go back  ta the couch,” the brunette explained, turning the light on in her room, and both pairs of blue eyes adjusted to the light. She left Westfall in the doorway, to rummage through her drawers for some decent clothes.

The walls were a mix of black and red, with strings of Christmas lights nailed to the wall, adorning or covering a bunch of posters of famous singers and actresses. The bedding was a deep purple with a striped fur throw covering the bottom. It was quite warm and even homely.

“I’m not going to make you sleep on the couch in your own house, Franky, I’ll take the couch,” the warmth overtook the tiredness in Bridget’s tone, who was now exploring the girl’s room with a sweet gaze, she crossed over to flick on the bright orange lava lamp on the bed side table. 

“No way, ya’ll fall into the Chinese,” Franky teased, pulling out some long_ish _blue, cotton shorts and a plain black tee, before handing them over to the blonde who had taken an interest in the lamp. “Just sleep in the damn bed with me, Gidge,” 

The Psych teacher was obviously conflicted by the idea, biting softly on her lower lip, and Franky shook her head slightly from side to side, “Look, it’s big enough, just think sleepover! … I’ll let you sleep next to the lava lamp,” the brunette persuaded with a big, contagious grin, and soon enough, Bridget relented.

“Alright, but just for the lamp,” she played back, sifting through the clothes Franky was lending her, “Could I borrow something long-sleeved?” the blonde inquired timidly, and Doyle nodded before pulling out a Pac-man shirt with long, stripy sleeves.

“Here  ya go, there’s a bathroom on the left,” Franky grinned, watching Bridget leave. She piled her own, worn clothes in a small heap in the corner of the room, changing into a fresh pair of mint coloured underwear and a pumpkin designed black t-shirt. 

When Bridget returned looking more than adorable in her clothes, Franky was pressed to the far side of the bed, giving the older woman as much room as she could have possibly wanted, and the mattress dipped under the weight of an  extra body .

“Relax Gidge, we’re just  havin ’ a sleepover between friends,” Franky coaxed gently, and Bridget nodded, before rolling over carefully, facing Doyle instead of the lamp that she’d kept lit, bathing the two of them in a warm orange glow.

“Thank you, Franky,” Bridget smiled genuinely, closing her eyes, and the brunette grinned to herself, unable to tear her blue gaze away from the beautiful woman in her bed.


	5. Storming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for not updating sooner, it's been a crazy month! but as an apology, I've made this chapter a teensy bit longer, xoxo ~ Baby Fangirl
> 
> Also Note, I'm writing and posting at midnight so please bear with me and my potential mistakes.

Franky awoke before her alarm the next morning and it was truly something straight out of a fairy-tale, for about two seconds. Warm, radiant beams of sunlight were illuminating the edge of her curtains, still managing to brush the room in a thin layer of gold. 

It was also quiet, usually the next-door neighbour had to wrangle two screaming children who didn’t want to go to school, I mean, Franky could relate, but she didn’t screech about it. Instead, there was a blackbird auditioning out for the world from the tree in the back garden. 

And not to mention, Franky Doyle woke up with an arm securely wrapped around Bridget's middle, spooning around the smaller woman without even a centimetre between them. From their respectable positions earlier on in the night, somehow, they had both been attracted to the middle of the bed, like magnets. 

Franky stole a moment just to herself to watch the blonde sleep, comforted somehow by the steady rise and fall of the woman’s chest. She looked more than peaceful, with a twitch of a smile habituating in the corner of her lips, and loose, golden curls framing her face. 

Just for reasons that Franky didn’t really want to think about, she forced herself to scoot close to the wall, instantly missing the warmth that Westfall provided; but it was better that way then the psych teacher waking up in the embrace of a student. 

Maybe the movement disturbed her? Maybe she just woke up naturally? But Bridget roused from her slumber with a big stretch, blinking herself awake. 

Bridget tried to focus more on the individual aspects of the room that she woke up in, a sweetened confusion settling onto her features before everything began to sink in. Franky. Blonde curls practically whipped her shoulders as she turned her head around, finding the girl reclined near the wall with a positively smug grin. 

“Mornin’ Gidge,” the brunette greeted in a way that made the woman grin so easily. 

“Good morning Franky,” the whisper barely lingered on the morning air as Bridget sat up, the duvet pooling around her waist deliciously. “What time is it?” was murmured sleepily, all in one conjoined word. 

Leaning dramatically over the blonde, Doyle yanked her phone from the bedside table, first noticing the bunch of unread messages swarming her inbox from both of her friends, her easy-going grin falling like an anchor, “Oh, shit.” she whispered. “Shit!” Franky voiced, louder this time. 

“Franky, what’s wrong?” Now fully awake, Westfall frowned in concern as Franky began clambering out of bed. 

“It’s fucken twenty to nine! College starts in twenty minutes,” the girl answered to her closet as she began sifting through the hangers before selecting a casual outfit, all the while Bridget panicked. “I must’ve forgot to set an alarm... I usually wake up at Sophie’s,” 

“I don’t even have time to go home!” The blonde stressed, chewing softly at her lower lip. 

Franky turned to Bridget with some sort of confusion dawning on her features, before calming down considerably. “I’ll make some breakfast, ya can go through my clothes if ya need, so ya not wearing the same clothes ya did yesterday,” she offered, giving Bridget no time to argue before skidding down the stairs with an armful of her own clothes. 

Bridget managed to find a few things that weren’t too big on her, including a pair of leather pants, a cream coloured tank-top and a grey, knitted cardigan, which to be fair, she had a hard time picturing the younger girl in. She slipped on her own boots before meeting Franky in the kitchen only five minutes later. 

Sure, Franky had given Bridget full access to her wardrobe, but seeing her teacher come down the stairs dressed in her clothes, and pulling off the outfit so amazingly, almost made the brunettes jaw drop. Almost. Franky would be damned if she’d lost her digression as well as her dignity. 

The girl beamed and pointed to the kitchen table where she’d arranged an extraordinary supply of jams. “Made some toast, keep up ya strength an’ all,” the grin on Doyle’s lips was half a smug smirk, half of something else that Bridget couldn’t yet register, as she seated herself at the table whilst Franky served her toast. “Sweet taste in clothes ya got there, Gidge,”. 

Westfall tried to stifle a soft chuckle as she ate, keeping her worry for the time at bay for now. “Is that your usual morning pep talk to your mirror?” the blonde inquired quizzically with a smile of her own. 

“Ya an awful person ta try and compliment, ya know?” Franky laughed with a hollow tone in her throat and shoved the last bite of toast into her mouth. 

Bridget shook her head gently, “You just have to come up with better compliments Franky,” she directed a helpless grin at her now empty plate, before blinking quickly, “Are you ready to go? I’ll drive you,”. 

The ride to College in Bridget’s car was eventful, if by eventful, Franky decided to flip through the psychologist's radio channels and then cd’s trying to find a song to pick that would fit her mood in the seven-minute drive. The ride also included the brunette mocking Westfall's taste for classical music, and Bridget fighting for control of the volume. The last two minutes were spent with Doyle winding her window up and down constantly, just to see the tiny twinge of a grin twitch in the corner of the older woman’s glossed lips. 

Pulling into the faculty parking lot, Franky hopped out of the vehicle, swinging her bag over one shoulder. 

“Thanks for the ride, Gidge, I could get used ta this,” the girl smirked again, waving goodbye before heading in the direction of the main building. 

Bridget allowed herself a minute sat alone behind the driver's seat in her car, for composure, as she was convincing her racing mind, mentally going over the events of the past hours. She caught herself grinning softly in the mirror, and fought back the blush that was arising sweetly in her cheeks, as the faint smell of Franky’s perfume adorned her borrowed shirt. 

Her first class were a bunch of first years, and they all quietened as she entered just as the bell rang. Their lesson was to watch some meaningless documentary on the importance of communication, so when the lights dimmed and the screen ran the presentation, Westfall sat at the back of the class, rolled up the grey cardigan, and began to draw. 

* * *

Franky plonked into her seat in the English classroom, Miss Bennett sat at her desk, not even acknowledging the brunette's entrance, in fact the only people who had seemed to notice her was Kimmy and Boomer. 

Red sat across from her, drawing up her arm with an array of coloured pens. Franky and Red had quite a rocky relationship. Doyle had been the most popular girl at Wentworth High, until Bea had transferred over in their second year, and all of a sudden, the whole school loved her. She’d also stolen her best friend at the time, Doreen, and Franky couldn’t stand Red after that. 

She’d drawn a cupcake on her forearm, and was currently doodling an arrow to the cake and wrote ‘_ you _’ next to it. Franky rolled her eyes. She would rather chop her own arm off than receive that kind of sickly crap. 

But out of curiosity, Doyle rolled up her own sleeve, grinning brighter than she’d thought possible when she watched her soulmate shade in an adorable sketch of a baby panda. 

“When did you get a soulmate?” Red whispered across the table, and Franky immediately remembered where she was, and shoved her flannel back down her arm, features returning to the ordinary neutral expression that the girl wore. 

“Say it louder, Red, I don’t think the people over in the Geography block heard you,” the brunette snarkily remarked, catching the attention of the other girls at her table. Doreen grinned and nudged into Franky’s shoulder lowering her voice to match the conversation. 

“You got a soulmate too?” She was about to shake her head when Boomer cut in with an eager nod. 

Franky sighed, “What is this, the Lovestruck Gestapo Table? ... And Booms,”. Nobody really seemed deterred by her lack of interest in the conversation, except for Boomer who was now flipping through her dictionary for the word ‘Gestapo’. 

“Well, who is it?” Red whispered, as if she thought that perhaps Franky had forgiven her for stealing all her petty fame five-hundred years ago. 

Doyle shook her head again, “I don’ know, and listen; I don’ want anyone else to know, not yet, so can ya both shut up already?” the brunette hissed, and spent the rest of the lesson in silence, waiting in anticipation for the bell to ring. 

When the bell finally did go off, signalling end of class, Franky made her way to the front, where miss Bennett was collecting their workbooks. 

“Franky, I don’t know what you’re doing but your grades are really good this year, already. You’ve turned quite the leaf, and I have to tell you, I’m impressed,” the deputy-head smiled friendly as she paused her book-collecting to smile candidly up at her student. 

“Aw, Jeez Miss Bennett, Thanks for the flattery but...” She held up her arm, showing the teacher her new temporary panda tattoo, “... I’m spoken for, sorry,” Franky teased, laughing as the smaller woman spluttered, trying to redeem herself. 

“That’s not what I-” 

“It’s a joke Miss Bennett. Actually, I wanted ta ask ya about this study period last thing, but I’m really sure it’s made up, cause no one else seems to have it.” Franky pulled out her, now very crumpled, timetable, holding it out for the other woman’s inspection. 

Vera nodded, sitting down behind the computer. “You have a study session because you’re not taking as many classes and you need to fill your hours for the college day. Most people just go to the library, but you can study with an empty teacher,” she explained, handing back the schedule to type something onto the computer. 

“Empty teacher?” Franky echoed, sticking the paper back into her pocket. 

“A teacher who isn’t working with a class on the period you have your study session,” Vera answered, before finding what she was looking for. “According to the rota you can study with Miss Murphy, in language; Miss Miles in theatre, Mr Channing in law or Miss Westfall in Psychology,” 

Franky grinned to herself, it wasn’t a hard decision, and she nodded with a prompt, “Thanks Miss Bennett,” before heading out of the class to go to gym. 

* * *

The faculty room was cosy in the very least, there was a sense of belonging with the neat way that the personalized lockers lined up with their individual trays and coat pegs. 

Mr Jackson and Mr Stewart were talking over a game of snooker, while other members of staff were lounging in chairs, or marking homework at the tables. Bridget herself was unloading the new textbooks in her locker when Linda practically materialized behind her. 

“Bridget Westfall, right?” the platinum blonde nodded as if she already knew the answer to her own question, before sticking out her hand n greeting, “Linda Miles, Drama teacher,” the psychologist shook the offered hand politely, before shutting up her locker to focus her attention on the other woman. 

“Of course, I’ve seen you run the lunch periods too,” Bridget recalled, the polite grin never leaving her lips. 

“Yeah, I get dinner duties most days, courtesy of the HeadFreak. Listen, a bunch of us women go out on the weekends, and we were wondering if maybe you’d like to join us sometime? It’s usually me, Vera and Lee... Radcliffe,” Linda pointed out, noting the slight confusion knitting its way into the other woman’s brow. “So... Wanna hang?” 

Bridget required no further prompting before nodding curtly, grateful for the opportunity to get to know her co-workers better, besides, she’d not gone out with anyone under the category of ‘friends’ in a long time. “Sure, I’d like that,”, the blonde nodded again with a warm grin on her lips. 

Miles dipped her head once with a smile of her own, “Cool, I’ll text you,”, and wandered off to bet Murphy on the victor of Will and Jake’s one on one. 

Only a moment later the door swung open and Vera strode in, stopping only a foot from the psychologist, who looked up expectantly as the smaller woman cleared her throat, “Miss Westfall, the headmistress would like a word,”. 

Bridget didn’t hate anyone; the notion just wasn’t in her nature. Sure, people were assholes; and when some idiot drove like a toddler wearing stilts, sometimes here and there she would lose her cool, but Westfall had a very clear conscience when she admitted blatantly that she didn’t hate anyone... that was until she met Joan Ferguson. 

Her office had provided her with the job, and there was no way in hell that she could turn it down. Wentworth was the most Prestigious school in the country, and god knows the girls in it could benefit from a counsellor with how tight of a ship it was running. But she had to fight hand and foot to get a job in that position, merely because the headmistress didn’t feel the need for ‘investigating shrinks’ as she had called it. 

And the more that Ferguson didn’t want to hire a new psychology teacher, the harder that Bridget had fought to get it, until there were no excuses left for the headmistress to use, and Westfall claimed the title of Psychology teacher. 

Neither of them had spoken since the relinquent interview, and now, on the accompanied walk to the office, Bridget had a fire burning in the pit of her stomach. 

“Westfall here to see you, Headmistress,” Vera introduced, opening the door for the blonde, into the spacious office that was void of any personal touch. Ferguson looked up from the monitor screen. 

“Thank you, Miss Bennett. You can stay. This won’t take long. Sit,” a hang gestured to the opposing chair on the other side of the desk which Bridget made no effort into claiming, preferring to stand centre room. 

“What’s this about?” the blonde asked tentatively, preferring to face the situation head on than beat around the bush like an idiot. 

The head-teacher silently cleared her throat, folding both her hands in front of her on the desk, all the while staring up at her staff member without so much as a grin. “Tell me, Miss Westfall, do you know how to read?” not even the stupidest person on the planet could miss the clearly detectable tone of sarcasm lacing the dark-haired woman’s tone. The fire in the psychologist’s stomach roaring to life. She hated being belittled. 

Bridget arched a brow innocently, “As a matter of fact, I do. Would you like lessons?” It was very hard not to notice the twitch of a smile that caught Vera off guard, immediately banishing the emotion from her lips, disguising her sudden humour as a cough. 

Joan merely pretended that she hadn’t heard either the cough, or the comment, at all. 

“Do you recall signing an agreement when you were hired to teach at this facility?” Bridget apparently didn’t need to answer this however, as Ferguson pulled out a black file containing the paperwork and legislations that the woman had indeed read over and signed. “Would you mind reading out rule fourteen for us?” She handed the open file over to Westfall, who tentatively took the papers and began to read. 

“No staff member is to wear short-sleeved attire, have an absence of sleeves or wear removable sleeved items. No staff member is to have any showing marks or associated ink on their skin,” Bridget read aloud, handing back the file. 

“Miss Westfall, please remove that cardigan, and show us your arms,” Ferguson demanded, and reluctantly, Bridget slipped off the fabric, and stood in the office, in Franky’s tank top, with a sweet drawing of a panda on her arm. 

Vera’s eyes widened ever so slightly, opening her mouth just a moment before deciding on closing it again. 

The headmistress sighed, and Bridget slipped back into the cardigan, “These rules are set in place for our safety, Miss Westfall. Failure to comply with these rules can result in catastrophic consequences. For example, you don’t want any of these girls nosing around in your private business, so I suggest that you do in fact, keep it private.” 

“I’m sorry I’ll-” Bridget began, but only got so far when Ferguson cut her off completely. 

“I’ve had numerous complaints, not only of you incompatibility to follow simple instructions, but also your negligence of following simple protocol. We do not let students address us by anything other than Miss or Mister, it’s more than unprofessional.” 

“I just think that it’s good to establish some form of trust between us and the students, so they know they don’t have to be afraid of coming to us for help,” Westfall explained, glancing between the headmistress and her deputy, who refused to look at her for some reason. 

“These children are not your friends Miss Westfall, they’re students. I hope you take this warning into consideration, and start dressing more appropriately in the future, you can go now,” The woman dismissed, and Bridget stood a moment, trying to think of any other way to argue, but Vera escorted her out of the office promptly, and back into the safety of the halls. 

“Hey... Bridget,” The small brunette started, chewing on her lower lip slightly, gaze lifting from the grey cardigan up to the other woman’s features. 

The blonde canted her head ever so slightly. “Yes, Vera?” 

Miss Bennett shook her head finally. “Nothing, it doesn’t matter,”. 

* * *

“I’m jus’ saying, I don’ understand why this is mandatory, throwing a fucken ball into a net ain't gonna kick start my whole life!” Boomer complained loudly to anyone who would listen to her as she waited in line to take a shower. To be fair, Franky could kind of see where she was coming from, after all, she didn’t need Mr Stewart blowing a whistle every time she put a basketball in a hoop to become a top lawyer; she didn’t need to learn to deal with twenty sweaty girls in a three-shower changing room, to become a somebody. 

Still, Franky washed the dirt out of her hair, scrubbed her skin clean of sweat, and changed back into her ordinary clothes with the other girls. 

“Eyy Franky! Congrats!” Sky grinned, swinging around the changing stalls with an attitude perkier than a stoned pigeon. The girl just rolled her eyes, used to the praise by now, she wasn’t captain of the netball team four years running for nothing. Only dressed in her underwear, the blue eyed blonde lingered around, almost waiting for a response. 

“Uhh cheers?” Doyle shrugged, buttoning up her flannel. 

“So... Ain’t ya gonna tell us?” Sky pestered, gathering more attention from the other girls in the room. 

Franky frowned, staring back at the odd glances throwing her way, when Vicky Kosta also showed up too, right in the brunette’s personal space. “God! Can’t a gal get dressed in peace? Tell you guys what?” 

Kosta laughed, shrugging, “Who ya soulmate is? Come on, everyone’s talking about it!” she wagered. 

“The fuck d’ya mean everyone’s talking about it?” Franky’s voice rose, narrowing her eyes, casting a glance around the individuals in the changing room, searching for a suspect. Till her blue gaze landed firm on its target. 

Bea Fucking Smith. 

The redhead was in the middle of helping Allie put on her shirt when Franky grabbed the plain tee, ripping it from her grasp, “What the absolute fuck?!” it was her best attempt at a whisper, but with her rage, everyone in the changing room heard her. 

“Are you kidding me?” Red responded, and Allie covered her chest with her arms, “Can I get the shirt back?” Smith question, and Franky threw the balled-up fabric at the blonde. 

“All I asked was for you to keep a fucken secret. Is it really so bloody difficult?” The brunette stressed, throwing her arms into the air with wild desperation. 

“What’s going on?” Novak whispered quietly. 

“What’s going on? Your fucken girlfriend doesn’t know when to keep her fucken mouth shut that’s what!” Doyle’s voice rose again, struggling hard to keep the traces of emotion from crossing her features. 

Red rolled her eyes. “Bullshit, I didn’t tell anyone about your stupid little secret!”. 

Franky could only scoff incredulously, “Yeah fucken right!” 

“Hey I wasn’t the only one at that fucken table!” Red defended and Franky tore her gaze away from the ‘happy couple’ to the left, where Doreen was still pulling on her slacks. 

“Don’t look at me, I never said a word to anyone, I swear!” the dark-skinned girl promised, and Franky still had the heart to believe her. But this also meant that she’d ran out of suspects, and in a fit of anger and stress, the brunette stormed out of the changing rooms, ignoring the jest that followed her. 

Her study session couldn’t come soon enough. Franky had more emotions spiralling inside her body than she knew what to do with; and truthfully hoped that perhaps her psychologist teacher would be able to fix her fucked up mind. 

When the brunette burst through the auditorium doors, she had to pause a moment and look around the room before spotting a rather startled Miss Westfall sitting in the rows of seats, rather than at her desk. 

“I got a study period, an’ I heard you’re an' _ ‘empty teacher’ _,” Doyle called up to the woman, who nodded with a mere grin. 

“I’ve been called a lot of things in my life time, but now I can add ‘empty’ to the list,” she teased, and Franky couldn’t help but grin back a bit. Her spirits had just fallen throughout the day, and not even Boomer had managed to crack a smile; not even when she put two plastic knives in her mouth and pretended to be a walrus. 

“So... can I study in here?” Franky questioned, already making her way into the room, silently covering up the emotion that was dawning on her voice. 

The psychologist teacher nodded from her seat in the empty crowd, “Of course, make yourself at home,” the brunette grinned, and wound her way through the rows of chairs and stairs before taking the unoccupied seat right beside the other woman. She didn’t look at her, just stared down at the board with the previous class notes on it. 

They both sat in silence for a moment, Bridget marking a pop quiz and Franky trying not to sniffle. 

“Have ya ever felt like, the world was gonna end, just cause something really minor happened... but it- it meant a lot to you?” Franky spoke, the emotion starting to flow into her words like white sea foam rolling onto the sand. She never talked like this, but it felt as though Westfall would be the only on to understand her. 

Wordlessly, the older woman set down her pen, and gave her undivided attention to her student, “Yes, but you know, just because someone doesn’t feel the same way about something as you do, it doesn’t mean that you were wrong to feel so strongly about it,” 

Franky just nodded and processed the information. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bridget offered carefully, as the brunette bounced her leg, reclining in the chair. Franky shook her head firmly. 

A tiny sniffle escaped the girl before exhaling. “Yes,” Westfall waited patiently, for Doyle to speak in her own time and after just a handful of minutes, Franky opened her mouth. 

“I’ve been keepin’ my soulmate business to myself, just till I’m ready y’know? I don’t know if I’m nervous or something? Cause I’m not scared of finding out who it is... it’s just, I want to find out on my own terms. But now... now everyone knows, and I don’t even know how,” Franky admitted, finally tearing her gaze away from the board, and up towards Bridget. 

Doyle was almost surprised to see the genuine care that was shining in the psychologist's sweet blue eyes. 

“You know Franky... It’s never as bad as it seems; I know that’s a typical thing to say, but it’s true. So, you say people know that you have a soulmate, it’s not as if it could have remained a secret forever. Do they know who it is?” Bridget asked softly, and Doyle just shook her head. “Then it’s not like they’re telling you anything you don’t already know,”. 

Franky let out a heavy sigh, propping her head up on her hand, before restlessly shuffling, “I don’t know, I just don’t want anyone else finding out who my soulmate is before I do. I know it sounds selfish... But I’ve been an asshole to two thirds of this place. What if I’ve hurt her before? Or worse. What if I haven’t? What if she has no idea of the kind of person I am. And If someone else finds her before I do... I don’t want my soulmate getting hurt.” 

The brunette worried, a tension rising in her shoulders, her mind just wouldn’t stop racing... until she felt a soft, warm touch on her leg, and took a moment to realise that Bridget had consolingly stopped her leg from bouncing. “Your soulmate is your soulmate for a reason Franky. There has never been a recorded situation of a soulmate who hasn’t loved their other half, you just have to trust these things,” 

Bridget was right; she’d read it herself in one of her late night Dermamoris google searches. 

“These things blow over, Franky, they always do, I promise,” Bridget swore determinedly, and there was something in her confidence that made the brunette feel better. “Is there anything else you’d like to talk about?” The teacher offered, and Franky shook her head, her easy grin returning. 

“Nup, that’s all,” she assured, still accurately aware of Westfall’s hand still gently resting on her leg. 

“Okay, now do you reckon your absolute genius mind can help me grade these second-year pop quizzes. This girl seems to think that Ivan Pavlov was famous for inventing gravity,” Bridget laughed lightly, and Franky simply couldn’t help but join in. 

Maybe these study sessions weren't going to be so bad after all.


End file.
